Childhood friends never last, right?
by Ana Rebeka
Summary: PondLock, a little indulgence that turned into a full blown story. When Sherlock Holmes meets little Amelia Pond for the first time, he knows that this girl is going to be part of his life, and when she meets him, she knows he's going to be an awful lot of fun to be around. A sweet story, growing up, love, other love, adventure and pain. Credit for the image goes to devil's-bris
1. Chapter 1 - That Bench by the Church

"Go away Aunt Sharon!" Amelia slammed the front door shut and ran through the front garden, away from the house and towards the main street of Leadworth. At 8 years old, her Aunt Sharon had moved Amelia Pond from Scotland to this small village in the middle of nowhere, England. She hated it, and didn't hide her hatred.

Angry tears stinging her eyes, she continued to hurry towards the bench outside the church. She got here, snuffling only a little as she stared at the boy who had stretched himself across the seat, ankles crossed and resting on the armrest, head perched on the other and fingers meeting at the tips.

Amelia was momentarily speechless at the sight of the boy, but quickly recovered.

"Hi, there!" she sang, eliminating any trace of anger that had been there before. The boy didn't respond, so Amelia stepped closer. "Are you going to make room for me? You should be being a gentleman," she nodded her mock-disapproval at him as she chastised him, using both hands to life his legs to make room for her.

The boy opened one eye and lifted his head, his dark curls obscuring his grey-blue-green eyes, watching Amelia lay his legs on her lap, leaving his ankles resting in the same place they started.

"Morning," the dark haired boy greeting Amelia. He moved his hands to rest on his stomach, but didn't sit up. He was comfortable.

"I'm Amelia Pond," she smiled.

"Just like in a fairytale…" he muttered. "Sherlock Holmes." The smile of Amelia's grew into a grin.

"I love your name! It's great. I'm 8, how old are you?"  
>"12. You're Scottish."<p>

"Yup," she popped the p, frowning now as she looked at Sherlock's legs, still on her lap.

"Are you on holiday?"

"No… I've just moved here. Aunt Sharon took me away from all my friends. I don't like it here. It's boring," she sighed.

Sherlock sat up abruptly. He'd found a likeminded soul.

"I don't like it here, either," he muttered. He swivelled, placing his feet on the ground and Amelia shuffled along the bench, closer to her new friend.

"Have you just moved here, too?" Amelia leaned into him, gently pressing the conversation from him.

"Hmmm," he shook his head. "The Mother thought that this place is the epitome of fun. It's not." He sighed, then turned his head so his eyes met hers. "What do you do for fun around here, then?" The 12 year old boy was desperate for something to do.

"Not much, really," the girl's voice sang it's Scottish melody.

"Well then, let's find us something to do!" He grinned and stood, Amelia quickly copying his movements, grabbing his hand so she didn't fall behind.

This boy intrigued her. She wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but something abut him pulled her in. And little Amelia Pond: the curiosity Sherlock had for the Scottish fairytale girl in Leadworth meant he didn't recoil from their hands connecting as he would in different – normal – company.


	2. Chapter 2 - School by Dusk

The village clock chimed eight, and Amelia Pond was out, as usual. IT meant she didn't have to make small talk with Aunt Sharon. Plus, Sherlock might be around. Not that she was looking for him, no, just a small walk in Leadworth in midsummer

"Dammit," he muttered, over and over as he failed to pick the lock. It was still bring out, about eight o'clock on a summer's day. Plenty of light to see by, but he just couldn't get quite used to this lock. In London, the locks were easy to pick. Apparently Leadworth's, not so much. The clock chimed somewhere in the village: fifteen minutes past the hour. He sighed, turned his back to the door and slumped down onto the ground, closing his eyes against the setting sun.

It was a few moments, with him just sitting there, before he sensed someone's presence. He smiled a little as he felt the someone sit next to him. She smelt of pancakes and maple syrup – Amelia Pond.

"Evening, Pond," he turned his head, but didn't open his eyes: the sun was glaring, rendering it painful to do so.

"Holmes," he heard the grin on her face and allowed the arm that was pinned between them to lie on the girl's shoulders. His hand rested on her right shoulder and he noticed her once shoulder-length hair was now not-so-shoulder length. He twisted his wrist upwards, searching for the end of the straight red hair. The tips of his fingers found it, and brushed against her ear.

"Your finger's are freezing!" she giggled.

"What happened?" he ignored her, opening his eyes, squinting from the sun to see her new hair. He'd never admit it, but he loved her hair. Now she'd had it cut…? He knew it wasn't to spite him, but it still felt… he didn't know. Plus, he was 16, she was 12. The feelings he had were wrong, as Mycroft would say. And she wouldn't reciprocate for a while, of at all. He sighed and looked into her eyes, which looked sheepish.

"Well, at school, we were doing this experiment in chemistry, and, well, my hair caught the flame in the Bunsen burner." She pulled a face, while Sherlock was still getting accustomed to the shortness of her hair. He couldn't, so he changed the subject.

"Why're you here?" he stood, giving her his hand to help her up, a politeness he would normally ignore.

"Saw you here," she said, matter-of-factly. "What about you?" He grinned.

"I need to get some…" he trailed off, going over the mental list in his head, then simplifying it. "Just some chemicals. The Mother won't let me buy any online. I thought the science storage cupboards might have some to spare."

"Probably," she agreed, "but I didn't find you in the prep room, I found you here, at the caretaker's entrance."

"Yeah, well…" He trailed off again, hiding his face a little.

"You couldn't pick the lock, could you?" her eyes twinkled, her hands already fumbling elegantly with the bobbie pin that swept her fringe to the side, barely giving Sherlock time to respond.

"It's a tricky lock, Pond, wipe that smirk off your face," he said, only slightly not-joking.

Pin in hand, she turned to the door, bending over slightly to get a proper view of the lock. "The caretaker is a bit peculiar, very old-fashioned when it comes to security. You and your shmancy London locks," she teased. "Welcome to the country," she grinned and the lock clicked, the door swinging open, she stood up straight and strode into the school not turning around to see Sherlock's incredulous expression. What he was more incredulous at, however, was that he, Sherlock Holmes, then followed her like a puppy. This was not normal behaviour for the boy. Amelia heard the incredulous tone in his voice, "But you're twelve! Where did you learn to pick a lock?"

"Aunt Sharon keeps the Christmas presents in a wardrobe with a similar lock," she said simply, chuckling as she twisted through the corridors towards the science prep room.

The door pushed open and Amelia turned around now, grinning. "What was it you wanted?"

As he recounted the chemicals, she scuttled around the cupboards, pulling bottles of powders out, laying them on the work benches.

Unable to disguise his amazement, he tried to diminish it by stepping up to Amelia, picking each of the chemicals up, bundling them in his arms. After the seventh bottle, she closed the cupboards.

"Everything?" She turned, letting her cardigan swirl.

"Yeah, that's everything… You're amazing!" he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, just, yeah, that's everything,"

"Let's go then!" she started to skip through the corridors, Sherlock following, his arms full of the chemicals his 12 year old best friend had just stolen for him.

A thought flitted through his mind, "you know you've just helped me to steal from your school…?"

"Technically, you helped me, but yeah, I know. Why?" They'd returned to the caretaker's entrance, and Amelia picked up the handbag she'd left there. As Sherlock dumped the things in, he wondered how to answer her question.

"Just wanted to make you aware… you are a little girl after all," he teased. Now they were walking, Amelia having shut the door and pushed the lock back into place. "They'll never even know," she muttered as she did so. He utterance in reaction to Sherlock was not so calm.

"Hey! I'm not little!" she fairly screeched, whacking him in the arm.

"Owwww!" He rubbed his arm. "I was kidding, Pond. Hell, you're more mature than half of the kids in my year."

"Thank you," Amelia used the arm she had just him with to link through his arm, the two of them strolling through Leadworth, clock tolling 8.45.


	3. Chapter 3 - Amelia Standing Her Ground

Amy Pond is 14, he is 18 :)

I own nothing, everything is the great and all-mighty Moffat and Gatiss, courtesy of the BBC

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><p>Amy didn't know how Sherlock didn't know about her Raggedy Doctor. Something happened when she was around him, something that made her forget about the man in the blue box, the man who had left her behind.<p>

It was when she casually mentioned him Sherlock that things started to get weird between them. Sherlock, her best friend from the she'd found him on her bench, had started to become distant, sarcastic.

Amy didn't like it, and she knew that talking to him about it bluntly and to the point would be the only way to make things better, the only way to fix _them._

She was in London – Aunt Sharon thought that London would do Amelia good, and she was right, but for the wrong reasons… She was in London and she was making it a point of duty for Aunt Sharon to take her to Holmes Manor.

The car drive was quiet. Not awkward, but Sharon knew better than to ask her 14 year old niece why she wanted to visit the boy's house…

Sherlock was in his room, packing. He was going to University, and he was sorting through his things to leave behind. Not one for collecting photos and other such memorabilia, he had a huge pile of items with so-called sentimental value that his mother made him keep. Well, he wasn't taking them to Oxford with him.

This picture, however, this final one he was sorting through, this one he placed in his wallet, with the two faces looking up through the see-through plastic.

The doorbell rang. Leaving the wallet open, laying on the suitcase, he grudgingly left the room to open the front door. Probably some salesman. Well, he'll have bitten off more than he can chew, Sherlock thought as he trotted down the stairs.

What he wasn't expecting, however, was the girl that he'd grown up with to be standing on his doorstep.

"Amelia!" His tone portrayed his surprise: this girl always managed to catch him off-guard, in a good way.

"Sherlock," she looked solemn. Too solemn.

"Come in," Sherlock stepped out of the way, letting his best friend. Only things had been… forced between them lately. At least, he thought so. Ever since she told him about the Doctor; her "raggedy Doctor". Of course, she thought he didn't know about him, and the one time she _did_ mention him, she seemed like she shouldn't have said anything. She's hiding things from me, Sherlock thought, and ever since that sunny day in Leadworth, he wondered if he was just filling in until the Doctor returned. But he couldn't tell her this!

"Sherlock?" Amy had clearly been trying to get his attention for some time now, her head angled as she looked up at him, his tall figure shadowing her own.

"Yeah, sorry. What's up, Amelia?" He started through the house, clearly expecting her to follow him, which she did. They reached the drawing room and Sherlock invited her to sit down.

"Sherlock," she repeated, "We need to talk."

This stunned him into silence. This was not altogether unexpected, but he didn't _want_ to talk. He sighed, looking at her.

"What is there to talk about?" He gulped. Sherlock, the boy genius, knew that this would make or break their friendship, and while he didn't want to break it, he wasn't sure he knew how to keep it alive.

"Us, Sherly," she used the term of endearment only she could get away with, making him remember that they were close, and had been since she'd found him on that bench.

"What about us?" He tried to be blasé about it, but Amy could hear the slight tremor in his voice. He was scared, not that he'd let anyone know.

She sat on the chair, leaning forward, resting her chin in her hands, a look of despair on her face.

"Ever since… ," she gulped. "Ever since I told you about the Doctor, you seem to be all distant. I hate it." She was slowly gathering her confidence. "I need to know whether you plan on us becoming more and more distant and eventually hating each other and never talking to each other again, because if you do, I'd like to not invest myself in you emotionally."

"Always the one for practicalities," he muttered, seeing himself in the girl he loved, as a sister, as a friend, as a best friend, as something more?

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. I just." He stopped. Should he tell her, or would she be better off not knowing? She'd work it out eventually, but it would be too late then… Taking a deep breath, not allowing too many of his emotions to shine through, despite the fact he knew this red-haired girl would know what he was feeling anyway, he restarted. "When you told me about the Doctor, it was like you were hiding him from me," he ignored the look on her face, continuing. "I thought… I thought you were replacing him with me, until he came back…"

Amy blinked, partly in shock, partly to blink away the tears that had formed in her crystal blue eyes. "You thought what? Never mind." She stood up, turned away and used her hand to wipe away the tears.

Sherlock waited, expecting her to leave the room, so he closed his eyes. He wouldn't have to watch her then. Instead, he felt the girl's arms wrap around him.

"I'd never use you to replace anyone, ever." She murmured into his chest, her head only just reaching under his shoulders. "I…" she didn't know what to say, so stopped, just holding her best friend for a little while longer.

Sherlock was stunned. With all his observational skills, he had not seen this one coming.

A throat cleared at the doorway, and Amy pulled away from Sherlock.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said, hating his brother more than ever now.

"Sherlock," he smiled, smugly. "I see you're a little busy, shall I come back later?"

Sherlock looked to Amy, his Amelia Pond, his fairytale girl from Leadworth, and she just nodded. "No, no, its fine. What is it?"

"Just wanted to let you know that Mother will be waiting for you in fifteen minutes."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I'll be in the car in a moment."

"Yes."

And Mycroft strode off.

"You've got to go, don't you?" Amy looked into his grey-blue eyes, remembering the first time she saw them, and smiled, despite the fact she knew that it would be months before she'd see them again.

"Yeah… Just, come upstairs? I've got to finish packing. Just a few things." He smiled, revelling in this short amount of time he had with her, glad that she turned up out of the blue. That was _such_ an Amy thing to do, he thought.

As they traipsed up the stairs, Amy called to him as a thought occurred to her. "Y'know, you're the only one that I let call me Amelia. I don't know why, but when you say it sounds right, y'know?" Sherlock grinned, having noticed this himself. Whenever anyone else called her Amelia, she'd correct them to Amy, but he called her Amelia, and she never protested. Like it was his own name for her.

"I know," he smiled. They reached the top of the stairs and the door to Sherlock's room. Just an ordinary oak door, leading to an empty-ish room inside.

Amy looked around, admiring the wallpaper and the deep blue, thick carpet. Flopping herself onto the bed, the suitcase toppled, and she caught the few loose contents before they fell on the floor.

The wallet fell into her hands, and she glimpsed the flash of red hair, next to a curly black head of hair. This was her and Sherlock, on her 14th birthday, not three months ago. She didn't know whether to smile or blush as she acknowledged its presence in his wallet, and she placed it back, the both of them pretending that neither of them knew the other knew she'd seen it.

Throwing the final things into his suitcase, he zipped it up, shoving the wallet into his jacket pocket as he twirled into it, tying the deep blue scarf around his neck. Neither of them said anything, they just sat in each other's company until a shrill voice called up the stairs.

"Sherlock. Car. Now!"

Sherlock turned and smiled apologetically to Amy. "You'll come and see me, won't you? You'll make university bearable?"

"Of course," she smiled, elated at the idea that he still wanted to be friends with her, that he wasn't going to abandon their friendship. The pair stood, Amy carrying the smaller bag down the stairs for him as he lugged the larger one behind him.

They were at the porch now, and Amy could see Sharon's car, waiting for her behind the Jaguar that held an impatient looking Mrs Holmes.

"Write to me?" She smiled as he nodded his reply. She dropped the bag, hoping that it didn't hold his chemistry set thingies – the ones she'd never really understood – and wrapped her arms around him once more.

"Going to miss you, Sherly,"

She felt his arms around her waist and his face in her hair when the horn tooted, followed by Mycroft's impatient "for God's sake, Sherlock!"

Amy pulled away, smiling, reaching her hand down to his as she tip-toed to peck him on the cheek. "See you later."

And they went their separate ways, for the time being, neither of them aware of the other's feelings, barely even aware of their own, grinning like fools.


	4. Chapter 4 - Homework is Easier With Two

Amy Pond was at her desk, doing her chemistry homework. More accurately, she was texting Sherlock, getting _him_ to do her chemistry homework. Not that she didn't know the answers, she did, it was just an excuse to talk to Sherlock, and she didn't have to do work. Win/win, really.

The front door of the big house in Leadworth opened and clicked shut.

"Hi, Amy." Aunt Sharon was home from work.

"Hey. In the study."

The aunt-niece relationship had improved, and Amy no longer hated her aunt. It was a cordial relationship, almost friends now, but it was moment like this that made it, well, difficult.

Sharon walked into the study, dumping her coat on the back of one of the chairs.

"Hiya, what're you up to?"

"Just chemistry homework," Amy replied, ignoring the phone buzzing on the table. She desperately wanted to read it, but her manners told her to respect her elders.

"Oh, okay," Sharon was clueless when it came to science. They sat there, silence swelling in the room.

After a fair amount of time, Sharon spoke. "Amy, we need to talk about a few things."

"Oh?" Amy had a feeling it had something to do with Sherlock, and she started to feel sick, her stomach knotting uncomfortably as she was sitting.  
>"Yeah…" Sharon looked around the room nervously, as if she didn't want to be saying this next bit. "Listen, I know you're not going to tell me certain things, that you will keep things to yourself. I understand. After that whole Raggedy Doctor thing…" Amy almost glared at her Aunt.<p>

"Where is this going?" she had to fight to not growl the words.

"Just, there are certain things you need to be safe about."

"Oh, God,"

"And you know how much I don't like him, but from what I've seen of the boy, Sherlock won't use you," Amy's eyes widened, but Sharon continued, telling herself it was like ripping off a band-aid. "God, I'm rambling. What I'm saying is I know Sherlock's a good guy, but I don't want you seeing him."

The knot in Amy's stomach tightened.

"Seeing him, or _seeing_ him?"

"Oh, God, you can stay friends with him, I know how much he means to you. Just, Amy-love, he's too old for you. You're 14, he's 18. It's a huge age gap for someone your age. What about that lovely boy, Rory?"

"He's gay, Sharon." Amy wasn't going to let this go, but she wasn't willing to argue right now. This was too much of a bombshell, and she needed to think.

Sharon smiled sadly. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Amy snapped. "You never liked him, and you just said that, and you're pulling the 'it's best for you' card. No. You're not sorry. Don't tell me you are." Sharon stared, a little stunned. "Just, go!" Amy almost yelled, finding it hard to keep a lid on her emotions.

Sharon left the room, but Amelia Pond didn't notice. She and Sherlock _weren't_ dating, but her aunt's words had triggered something in her, some realisation of her feelings? She didn't know, she just didn't know.

She picked up her phone to read the text that had been left unread for a while: Nitrogen cycle – SH.

She smiled, and then wondered why she was smiling. All he'd written was two words to contribute to her homework.

She thought a while, realising that while she loved Sherlock, she was deluding herself if she thought he felt the same way. He was 18, for God's sake. Way out of her league, even without the age gap.

The text conversation stopped, homework left almost incomplete as Amelia Pond cried herself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5 - Merry Christmas

**Amy is 16 while Sherlock is 20 this time! **

**Sorry it took so long to get it to you, I hope you think it was worth it! Merry Christmas, consider this my present to you! Also! There will be *touch wood* a New Year's plotline for the pair also.**

**I must again remind people that these aren't my characters - le sob - and I must credit them to the masterminds and genius that consists of Gatiss and Moffat, BBC.**

**PS. I think I depressed myself a little bit when I wrote this. What am I saying, "I think" ? I know I did. I cried as I wrote this. I hope you don't think of me as pathetic. Just, enjoy xD **

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><p>The front door swung open as Amy answered the door, dressed up to the nines. It was Christmas, in Leadworth, and it was freezing. But she didn't care. She grinned as Sherlock stood under the porch, and knew the mistletoe that hung there was a fact he was well aware of.<p>

In the spirit of Christmas or not, he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek, causing her to blush a little.

It had been a while since they'd seen each other and two years since Amy had realised that she had feelings she shouldn't have for her best friend, and they'd managed to keep their friendship alive in only a way where one person truly valued, admired, loved the other could.

Sherlock held his arm out, inviting Amy to link hers through, which she did, smiling at him. She would normally but looking up, but today she had heels on – brand new, fresh from the box that morning, so here eyes were almost level with his.

The pair walked down the cobbled path, not speaking and using the other as a source of warmth, Amy using the tall man to support her on the ice, something her shoes refused to do.

Sherlock laughed, suddenly, and before Amy even had the chance to look at him, puzzled, he explained. "I was just thinking that your shoes are impractical. What's the point of having shoes you can't walk in?

"They make me taller. I need something to boost my self-esteem when I hang around tall guys like you!"

"And yet, you're still shorter than me." He smirked.

"That's not the point. The point is that I'm less short." She stuck her tongue out.

"Conceded."

Amy grinned. "You always let me win. It must be my immense charm." She flicked her hair to emphasise her point.

"Nah, I just reckon its your immense skill at forming arguments no man can follow."

"Oh, but I'm sure any other woman would be able to follow it, Sherly, m'love," she smirked.

"I highly doubt it," he murmured. Amy heard, but didn't say anything, only smiling.

The walked for a few moments in silence again, completely comfortable with each other, when a thought flitted through Amy's mind. "So, where _are_ you actually taking me?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, half a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's see if you can deduce that for yourself."

She looked to him, losing her footing in the process. She clutched to his arm to hold herself up. "Okay, I'll just tell you then, if you don't want to work it out yourself." There was a twinkle in his eye as he said this.

"No, no! I want to guess!" She pondered a moment. "But there's nowhere _in_ Leadworth you could be taking me…"  
>"And why's that?"<p>

"Well, Leadworth…" She trailed off, gesturing to the street before them, letting the implication do all the talking.

"And what makes you think I'm taking you somewhere in Leadworth?"

She stopped walking abruptly. "You're not?" He grinned as he watched her work it out.

A smile broke out onto her face, and she slid her hand from clutching his arm down to his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Sherlock smiled a small smile, rubbing his thumb over the top of Amy's hand. He knew it meant more to him that to her, but he revelled in the closeness, something he couldn't –wouldn't- normally do around others.

The pair continued walking, the street lit up by the lights in the trees that framed it. They made their way down the road, not talking, just being, until Sherlock stopped, and untangled his hand from Amy's. He gestured to his mother's car, which was idling on the side of the road.

"Okay, so, not what I was thinking…" Amy muttered, but as she was invited to get into the car, she did as she was told. Sherlock slid into the seat next to her as Amy almost toppled into the back seat.

"Those shoes working out for you?" Sherlock smirked as Amy had buckled herself in.

"Perfectly fine, thank you." She was highly aware that this was exactly what Sharon was warning against. Ever since that first chat two years ago, Sharon had kept on at Amy to not become anything more than friends with Sherlock Holmes. Which wasn't a problem. Not at the time. But now, this seemed somewhat romantic, especially for anyone with the surname Holmes: they were notorious for being rather detached.

Amy sighed, ignoring Sherlock's questioning look, and looked straight ahead has the boy – man, she corrected herself – instructed the chauffeur to drive.

It was a quiet drive, Sherlock humming to himself while Amy played with her hair, with the occasional witty quip to one or the other.

After about half an hour, the car pulled up to the high street of the nearest town. Amy looked to Sherlock. "What's happening here tonight?"

"Oh, not much. They're doing some weird Christmas lights thing that I thought you might like to see."

Amy smiled. Lights and pretty sparkly things: Sherlock knew her well. "So long as there are no cobbles."

The silence from the other side of the car told her that cobbles would be the best part of the journey. "Fine, but if you let me fall…" she allowed the implied threat to sink in, and then grinned, pulling the door open and wrapping herself in her scarf. Sherlock met her on the other side in time to close her door behind her and gave her his arm. She refused; taking his hand instead, knowing that while Sherlock was "forbidden fruit", Sharon would never know, and Sherlock would never assume anything more than friendship from this small gesture: from all the small gestures. There was no danger of anything happening between them, no matter how much she wanted there to be.

Disguising a sigh, she turned to Sherlock. "Lead me!" she grinned, and as he broke out into a run, she yanked his arm back. "Shoes! Lead me, slowly." After a small grin, the pair set of at a slow but comfortable walk, arms swinging slightly in the frosty air.

It wasn't long before they had hit the high street, and walked straight through it, past the closed shops and the trees that twinkled with white lights, and it wasn't long before Amy no longer knew what was going on in Sherlock's head. She started to ask him, but he shushed her, taking in the city sounds: despite it being Christmas, and well after dark, the city still buzzed, and Sherlock revelled in it. So did Amy, but she was impatient to find out where she was being taken, and as always, curiosity won over with Amelia Pond.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, Amelia."

"Really? After almost an hour of not telling me, it couldn't possibly be a surprise, could it?" she quipped, an audible smile on her face. They were walking down a hill now, and Amy was gripping Sherlock for support, who was giving it gladly.

"Yes, it could be, and is, a surprise." He was suddenly serious, and at the bottom of the hill, they trotted carefully onto a small wooden bridge, where Sherlock stopped walking, turning his fairytale girl to face the river.

"Wha-?" Sherlock put a finger to the girl's lips, knowing that it was an intimate act, but ignoring it. If he ignored it, the feelings that accompanied it might go away, he thought, desperately.

For once, the girl _actually_ shut up, and as sound erupted from the sky, her eyes widened.

Fireworks surrounded them, exploding and careering all across the deep sky.

"Words fail Amelia Pond for the first time," Sherlock chuckled after the fireworks were over. No response from the girl next to him, she only leant into his shoulder.

"Just like the stars…" She whispered. Sherlock had to agree, but not about the fireworks. She was his very own shining star and she couldn't even see it. And if she could, what then?

Amy's shiver brought him from his wonderings, from his "what ifs". A snowflake fell on his nose, then his cheek, and before he could acknowledge it, the snow fell by the bucket full. Amy squealed next to him.

"Snow!"

"I thought you didn't like the cold." He stated, clearly amused by her outburst and inconsistencies.

"I don't, but its Christmas day, and I was just thinking the only way today could be more perfect was if it snowed. I'm a stickler for those Christmas traditions, Sherly."

"Of course you are," he smiled. He'd made this day perfect for her. That's all he could ask for, really. The clock tolled ten o'clock, somewhere in the depths of the city, and Sherlock sighed. "The driver's going to pick us up here, right about… now."

The car pulled up and Amy smiled, but he could see the pain in it too: her eyes didn't sparkle in quite the same way. Didn't she just say things had been perfect? Why was she upset?  
>He didn't ask, knowing the answer would break his heart. "Come on, then. Let's get you home, Pond."<p>

"Okay, then," Amy couldn't smile anymore. As much as this evening had been perfect, as much as she loved every second, it was now ending, and that killed her.

The two of them carefully made their way through the snow to the car, and they drove back to Leadworth in complete silence this time.

And like a gentleman, Sherlock walked his Amelia Pond to the door, where the mistletoe still hung, waiting expectedly.

At the top of the steps, Amy turned to find Sherlock standing at the bottom of them. "What, I don't get a hug?" she joked, going back down the steps to take his hand and drag him to the shelter of the porch. Pulling her into a tight embrace, Sherlock distanced himself from the feelings again, knowing the pain that she would cause him would be too great to bare if he let this go on too long. He felt her arms around his chest when she pulled away from him.  
>"One second," she bent down and slipped her shoes off, throwing them towards the depths of the porch. She leant into him again, her arms around his waist now. "Better." She smiled into him. "Can't have a Sherlock hug without you being taller than me, now can I?"<p>

"No, I suppose not…" he didn't understand at all, and Amy picked up on this, of course.

"Its one of those "only a woman could follow your line of thought" kind of things, Sherly."

"Thought so." He allowed his arms to squeeze him to her, but felt Sharon's eyes on him through the curtain. He sighed, perhaps a little over-loud, because Amy felt uneasy. She glanced up to the mistletoe. Sherlock didn't miss this, of course he didn't. For some reason or other, Amy Pond wanted him to kiss her. So he bent his head down, slowly, hesitantly and made their lips meet. Amy went on tiptoe to force their lips closer and wrapped her arms around his neck.

All to quickly, it was over, and Sherlock was at the bottom of the porch steps, just out of the light, contemplating his first kiss. "Merry Christmas, my fairytale girl."


	6. Chapter 6 - Surprise!

**Author's note:**

**Please don't hate me! I know I wanted to put this one up at New Years, and then the beginning of January, but life sucks and meant I couldn't get it up until today. And it's probably not my best work. But review as ever, let me know how crap it is , otherwise I can't improve! I'm planning on the next part being up soon, but it depends on life. **

**Thank you for being so patient, I love you all, dearest readers! 3**

**Amy Pond is 18, he is 21 - But will be turning 22 this year, just so you know that I'm keeping the same age gap, but the birthdays mean he's still at Uni :)**

**I own nothing, everything is the great and all-mighty Moffat and Gatiss, courtesy of the BBC.**

* * *

><p>The phone rang: Sharon answered.<p>

"Sharon?"

"Speaking."

"It's Mycroft."

"Oh. Hi."

"Just letting you know, Sherlock is staying at Uni."

"That's a good thing?"

"Yes. It means Amy will have to go out of her way. Oxford is a fair while."

"Right, good. Thank you."

"What's the girl's plans for the night?"  
>"Going to Mels'."<p>

"Good. That should keep them apart."

* * *

><p>Amy was in her pyjamas – tank top and hot pants – with a face-mask on her face: strawberry exfoliation. Mels had decided that they would have a girls' night in for her 18th, and then proceed to get drunk for <em>her<em> 18th in two months time, and who was Amy to complain, really? Phone tucked into the waistband of her shorts, Amy grabbed the bowl of popcorn and made her way into Mels' living room.

"Mean Girls, or The Notebook?" She showcased the two DVDs.

"Not sure I'm in the mood for a weepy… So Mean Girls, then we can stay up and watch all of Colin Firth in all of his glory in the 6-hour Pride and Prejudice?" Amy put the bowl onto the coffee table, popping some of the cinema sweet into her mouth as she watched Mels grin.

"Sounds like a plan, methinks."

"Just need to wash this off. It's been 15 minutes now, hasn't it?"

"Yup."

The two girls trotted up the stairs and wiped their faces dry. As Amy patted her face with a towel, her phone rang,

"Hello?" She didn't think to check her caller ID.

"Hi there." She hear the deep familiar tones of her favourite voice. Sherlock.

"I'm not at home…"

"I guessed as much."

"Of course you did, Sherlock," she grinned.

"Well, Mycroft went out of his way to make sure I knew you were busy."

"Oh?"

"I'll explain later. Go to the window."

"Wh-?" She glanced at Mels, who was having difficulty keeping straight face. Rolling her eyes, she spoke into the phone. "Front or back window?"

"Front." She could hear the smile in his voice as she skipped across the landing and to the window to see Sherlock standing there. She smiled down at him, dropped her phone and scurried down the stairs, speeding past Mels who called out to her as she went.

"Happy Birthday, Amelia Pond."

Amy was at the front door now, and she yanked it open, not even bothering to close it as she ran to Sherlock, enveloping him in a tight hug, who buried his face into her hair.

"I couldn't miss your 18th, now, could I?"

Amy didn't say anything, revelling in the moment. After a few moments, she untangled herself from him, linking her arm through his. "Best. Birthday. Ever."

"In that case I don't have to give you your birthday present," he chuckled darkly. Amy's eyes flew to his. He'd come, _and_ he'd got her a present. She laid her right palm out flat, left hand on her hip.

"Give."

He grinned as he pulled a small box out of his pocket, laying it on the red-head's hand. She took it carefully, looking at Sherlock's face for a moment, then hearing the front door click shut. Mels was being tactful. After an internal sigh of relief, she carefully pulled on the golden ribbon that decorated the box, she opened it.

A gold chain sat in a velvet cushion, with the letter "A" as the charm. Amy was speechless, and that didn't happen all that often. She put the box back into Sherlock's hand, pulling her hair to the side and out of the way.

"Put it on?" she turned her back to him so he could fasten the clasp, and heard him shuffling with the chain. In a matter of moments, the necklace was around her neck and Amy turned to face him again.

"Thank you." She whispered as she pulled him into her arms, forgetting that Sharon had forbidden the two to be together, even forgetting that her feelings were inappropriate. She was in love, and she was with the man she loved.

"Not a problem," he breathed in her scent. He'd missed this, just being with her. Ever since that first time they'd met all those years ago, he'd known she'd be a big part of his life. He just hadn't banked on her meaning this much to him.

The moment was fractured as Mels opened the front door. "Are you not getting cold out here?" As Amy didn't respond, she just sighed. "I've had a phone call, from someone. Didn't say who it was, and the number was blocked.

"Mycroft." The girl and her love said simultaneously.

"I'm going to kill him, Sherlock, I really am."

"Not if I get to him first."

Amy held him tight before letting him go. "He'll have told Sharon, won't he?" Sherlock nodded silently. "You can either hide in Mels' house, or –" she didn't want to say it, "or you should go."

Before he could answer, the two of them heard a car pull up on the gravel driveway. "Sharon." Amy glared in the direction of the car.

She reached up on tip-toe, pressing her lips briefly but passionately. "See you later."

"Yeah," he answered gruffly, trying to control the feelings he wasn't allowed to have. "Laterz."

And then Sharon was out of the car, screeching at her niece, and he was gone.

A tear fell from Amy's eye as she clutched the necklace around her neck, unable to even fight back.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Wedding Invitation

**Okay, just a quick note, because I know some of you want to just get on and read. **

**Thank you for sticking with me, and I know this is not such an eventful chapter, but things will start picking up in the next chapter, promise. **  
><strong>Again, thanks for waiting, I love you guys, and I owe you all a cookie or something. <strong>

**- Ana xx**

* * *

><p>Amelia Pond had kept in touch with her childhood sweetheart, but ever since her 18th birthday, neither of them could look each other in the eye without an overwhelming surge of emotion, emotions that couldn't be acted upon. Not any more…<p>

Both Amy and Sherlock blamed Mycroft, sticking his oar – or umbrella – in where it wasn't wanted or needed.

So the friends communicated via text, so as to avoid having to look at each other, to hear the other's voice, and Sherlock Holmes began to distance himself from people, from his brother, his parents, everyone, throwing himself into his cases.

Amelia Pond mourned the loss of her love by defying all reason, something she'd been doing all her life, and becoming a kiss-o-gram to distract herself. And she learnt, just as every girl that becomes a woman learns, that she could go on without him. Just about.

And do time went on, and Amy started dating Rory, and Sherlock met John Watson, and the Fairytale girl and the Consulting Detective grew more distant than ever. But neither forgot, and every Christmas, a card would land in the mail basket of 221B Baker Street, always with "much love from Amelia Pond," and every birthday was greeted by some small parcel; a book, or a packet of cigarettes.

Nothing is ever forgotten, not really.

They continued in this fashion until a stiff card envelope was handed to Sherlock Holmes by the kindly Mrs Hudson as he sulked on the couch in his regular morning routine. He glanced to it, throwing it down on the coffee table. "Don't do weddings." And he flipped, curling up on the couch waiting for John to eventually bring him his coffee.

Armed with Sherlock's black and two sugars, John rolled his eyes, placing the mug down.  
>"Hang on, who's inviting you to a wedding?" and as was routine, picked up and opened the Consulting Detective's mail. After a moment, he looked up from the wedding invitation. "Sherlock, who's Amelia Pond?" John read the invitation over again before tossing it, Frisbee-esque to the man who twisted and stood at the name, catching it easily with a lazy flick of his left hand.<p>

Despite his apparent flippancy, Sherlock's eyes were ever alert as they scanned the cream card, embellished with gold and red embossed calligraphy.

"Oh. Old friend. I say friend…" he trailed off, remembering what she had meant to him. What she _still_meant to him. "26th of June? Bit late, isn't it? The invite, I mean."

It was May and the end of it at that. John looked over to his flatmate with a raised brow. "You're going to go then?"

Sherlock's eyes widened, a split second hesitancy as he reacted to his sudden surge of emotion, emotion he had fought to repress since that day in Mels' front garden. And then he surprised John Watson, he surprised Mrs Hudson who'd been in the kitchen, but most of all, he surprised himself with a simple shrug of his shoulders. "Why not? 26th of June. A Saturday. I can make it." He smiled, consequently intriguing the army doctor as to who this girl was, how she could have such an affect on the tall man across from him.

* * *

><p><span>5 months earlier<span>

Amy sat next to Rory on the couch after having poured over their wedding planes, just finalising the guest list and seating plan, having spent the day on it, the sunlight slowly fading to the night, the curtains of the living room open to let the stars shine in.

She wanted Sherlock there. She didn't know why she felt so strongly about it; after all, they'd been best friends once, but not anymore. Despite how much that fact killed her. So maybe it was a desire to see if the "inappropriate feelings" were still there, maybe just a desire to see him and see that he'd turned out okay. She followed both his and John's blogs avidly, soaking up any and every ounce of her once-best friend's personality she could from these detached, cold written versions of him. But she wasn't a novice in putting things behind her and moving on. After being let down by the Doctor, both when she was 8, and more recently, a year and a half ago, she had become an expert at pretending things that mattered, didn't.

And of course Rory knew who Sherlock was to her, and of course Rory let him come. He was Rory Williams, and - not that it had happened yet, not in this version of reality – he would wait 2000 years for her. He could let one ex-almost-boyfriend to the wedding.

He smiled over to his fiancée as she snuggled into him, looking at the pile of the envelopes sitting next to the wedding folder, feeling strangely serene and calm, Amy feeding off this and being possibly the calmest bride in the history of weddings.

"You'll post those tomorrow morning, yeah?" She asked him, resting her head on his chest as he nodded and, as content as she could be, she allowed her eyes to close and for her to drift asleep.


	8. Chapter 8 - Reunited

Sherlock looked around the train station for the small village. That it had a station at all told him that it was on the direct line from London to the North. Well, it would tell him that, if he didn't know it already.

Sighing, he lifted his head into the summer breeze, and started to walk. It was the 25th of June. Friday evening. The evening before Amy got married. Why he had even accepted the invitation to the wedding still eluded him, but that fact that he got a text from Amelia Pond, _his _Amelia, asking to see him before, well. He never was able to figure her out. Was that why he was here? To finally figure out the fairytale girl who had put him in his place all those years ago on that bench?

The walk to Amelia's house wasn't long, and he remembered it from his childhood. Turning his coat collar up, he shoved his hands into his long coat pockets, striding through the village, a dry chuckle sounding in his throat as he thought of many different possible versions of Sharon's reaction to him: she'd never liked him. He pulled his phone out, tapping out a quick text: "In Leadworth. On my way. - SH".

* * *

><p>Amelia Pond was sitting on her bed, gazing up at her wedding dress that was hanging in the corner of the room. She wasn't sure if she was meant to have butterflies yet, after all, she'd never got married before. But she stared and stared, looking around her room before throwing herself back onto the bed, closing her eyes and thinking about goodness-knows-what as she lay there. She heard her phone vibrate on the desk on the other side of the room and groaned. Effort was required to get it, and she sat up, grappling with her balance as she stood and slid the phone open to read the text. Sherlock. She smiled at the phone before reminding herself she probably shouldn't. Then resolved that no-one could see her, so proceeded to grin at the text as she replied. "See you in a second, then. :) -Amy x".<p>

She slid her feet into her Converse and tied the laces as she tried to focus on where she'd left her jumper and heard the knock at the door. Aunt Sharon was the first one there, and Amy couldn't say that perhaps she'd been a little slower than she'd needed to be, so she stood next to her aunt as she watched the expression on her face. She chuckled as Sharon just stood there, almost gaping at the tall consulting detective.

" 'Scuse us, Sharon," she smiled, remembering her teen years, and revelling a little in the same feeling she got in winding her aunt up. But she was engaged now, and an adult; Sharon had nothing she could reasonably say, so she just stalked off into the living room.

Amy hadn't looked at Sherlock yet, but as Sharon walked away, she let herself smile to him, and, forgetting herself, threw her arms around him. "Missed you, Sherly-boy," she spoke into his shoulder as he tentatively wrapped his arms around her. He didn't say anything, although reciprocating the sentiment.

"So!" He pulled out of the hug, and Amy looked to him, a small frown furrowing her brow, but smiling and closing the door behind her as they began to walk through the garden. "Rory Williams! I thought you said he was gay." He managed to hide his disappointment from his tone, looking to Amy for her explanation.  
>"You know how I'm never wrong…? Well, yeah, I was wrong," she chuckled, tried to forget how easy it was to be with him, resisting putting her arm through his as they sat on the bench that sat next to the rose arch.<p>

"What have you been up to, then?" Amy knew she wouldn't be able to hide her true intentions from Sherlock, not that she knew them herself. But Sherlock's ability to observe left most communication as superfluous.

"Amelia Pond, you know what I've been up to, and you know that I've been working in London and that I live in Baker Street with John Watson above Mrs Hudson's flat, and that Mrs Hudson is my landlady. You two would get along well, I think. You also know that I can see straight through you, and that tradition dictates that the groom should never see the bride the day before the wedding, and that you've chosen that day to see me.

So, what do you want, little Amelia Pond?" His eyes twinkled with his deductions of her knowledge and the abrupt question. It left her a little startled, but she knew that her next words be the truth. Not only because he would tell if she was lying by spotting the usual physiological features of someone lying, but also because he knew _her._

"I just wanted to check…" She trailed off, looking up at him, sideways through her lashes, almost, trying to gauge his reaction. Of course he would know what she was talking about.

"Naturally," he said, brushing off the unintentional smouldering look he got from the only woman he'd ever loved, trying to compose himself. "Check what, Amelia?"

"Don't call me Amelia while being facetious like that, Sherlock." She was suddenly deadly serious and slightly angry. She lifted her head to look him in the eye, noting the clenched teeth, the small, but very definitely there, nod, and her heart broke? Swelled? She didn't know.

Nor did she have time to figure it out, as Aunt Sharon called out of the front door. "Amy-love, dinner's ready. Is Sherlock saying for food, or…?"

Amy stood, looking over her shoulder to him and seeing him stand, too. "Nah, I'll eat out." Amy nodded and watched him walk through the garden.

"I'll see you later, yeah?" She called after him.

He just nodded and left the front garden.


	9. Chapter 9 - You kept the clothes

**Author's note: This is the place where I would insert something witty about how much I love you and the like about how glad you haven't given up on this story. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Leave reviews and the like!  
>Love, Ana x<strong>

* * *

><p>Later. Later-later-later-later. Later. Late. Er. The word went around in his head, analysing all the different emphases. He'd already tried to analyse the pollution rise in the village, but after working out that it was a negative growth, he gave up on trying to distract himself.<p>

How much later could later be? The quietest place in Leadworth, one of many, the familiar and now well-used bench next to the church saw the tall man adorn it once more, but now as a man who's brain was filled with thoughts; his usual observations, sure, with more and more of them slowly being pushed out by the growing impatience with Amelia. More accurately, with his feelings towards her, and how, after all these years, she was still impossible, and impossible to read.

The wind tugged at his curls as he swiveled on the bench and leaning back, steepling his fingers and crossing his legs, not dissimilar to how he had all those years ago, only he overflowed a lot more than he used to. Eyes closed, of course he didn't see the tall skinny figure approach.

"Thought I'd find you here." Even after 15 years of living in Leadworth her Scottish accent sang loud and clear.

"What of it?" A smirk grew on the man's face as he sat up to make room for her.

"You didn't reply to my texts. Were you, oh, I don't know, counting the bits of gravel to work out the average number of people who walk this part of the road each year?" She shuffled closer to him, her light sweater meeting his thick coat. "Why are you wearing something so thick in summer, anyways?"

He didn't answer, turning to face her, trying to read her features. "Why am I here, Amelia?"

"Because I invited you." She brushed it off, simple, easy, though she knew a more loaded question was on its way.

"Why did you invite me?"

"Because I want you here." She did want him there, and on two levels, and it confused her so much. "About what I was saying earlier, it doesn't matter."

"Yes. It does."

All Amy did was shake her head in reply. It mattered, it mattered a lot. And she had to know. But she didn't want to possibly break everything she had. Shrugging, she managed to look into his grey-blue eyes, started to say something and then changed her mind. "Urgh, fine. But I'm not talking here."

"Here is perfectly fine."

"No, Sherlock, it's not." And she stood, brushed herself down and started at a swift pace, knowing he would catch up in moments. And with a swish of his coat, he was, and the pair were walking towards her house in silence. The normally chatty Amy knew that she wouldn't be able to hide anything from him, both the inability and not being willing to. She was planning what she was going to tell him. Pointless, of course, because she'd just say whatever her heart wanted her to once she started, but a basic layout couldn't hurt, could it?

The short walk ended with Sherlock letting himself into Amy's house, ignoring Sharon's frown and striding up the stairs to her bedroom, two steps at a time. Amy ignored her aunt's now quizzical look and trotted up after him, a small, bittersweet sigh escaping her lips as she shut the door behind herself and flopped onto the bed.

"What am I doing here, Amelia Jessica Pond?" He stood tall, proud, coat collar turned up against the non-existent wind.

"Sherlock, please, sit down." It wasn't alien to her that he would be rigid and tense, but she yearned for the time when he wouldn't be. "Relax. Sit down." As he hesitated, she crossed her legs and freed up the space next to her. "Sit. Now."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes and sat next to her.

"Coat off."

"No."

"Sherlock Ho-"

"Urgh, fine." He shrugged the coat off and threw it into the room as if it were 221B. "Now. Tell me why I'm here."

"I." Don't know how to say this. Love you. Think you love me. Want you, not Rory. No simple sentence structure would do it. "I'm confused. And thought I might as well tell you what you always knew..." She pulled her knees up around her, waiting for some reaction that, of course, didn't come. "It was always you..." It wasn't loud enough to be heard. It was barely loud enough for Amy to hear herself. "Sherlock." She voice grew louder, gaining a little confidence. "It was always you."

Sure he'd heard now, she waited, gaze fixed on his jawline, trying not to focus on his eyes. They'd tell her everything, and that she'd mucked up.

He sat very still. This couldn't be. No. "You're engaged Amelia. And getting married tomorrow."

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask one."

"Sherlock." Her tone was warning. "If." She paused, hating that it was something she was considering. "If I... lef-"

"If you left Rory, would I have you?"

"You make me sound like a piece of meat."

"You make you sound like a piece of meat, those were going to be your exact words, Amelia."

She pouted, realising he was right. As always.

"Well..?"

"Well, what?"

"Would you?"

There was a quiet knock at the door. Sharon. Sighing, Amy stood and opened the door. "Yes, Sharon?"

"I was just checking in on you before I went to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"Also known as you were trying to check up on me," Sherlock piped up, standing and pulling his coat to him.

"Goodnight, Amelia. Sharon." And with a curt nod, Sherlock left, long legs striding and taking him away from the big country house, turning briefly, seeing Amy watch him from the window. He nodded once before turning away, towards the quaint bed and breakfast that he had booked, or moreover, John had booked for him, for the night.

* * *

><p>"Goodnight, Sharon." Amy was lying, staring at the ceiling, on her bed and when her aunt had finally, an hour later, bid her goodnight for the last time, she rolled over and pulled her phone to her.<br>"We need to talk, Sherlock. Garden, 10 minutes. Please. Amy x"

She felt like a schoolgirl all over again: excitement, though for the wrong man; anger at Sharon, that wasn't new, especially when it came to Sherlock. She sighed. Did the nod mean..? Of course it did. But what if she was reading too much into what she wanted? Something felt like it didn't make sense.

Groaning at her confusion, at her love, at her life, she pulled herself to her feet and pulled her dressing gown over her long nightie, slipping her feet into her slippers as she heard a noise. That noise. From all those years ago.

Every thought was erased from her head and suddenly she was 7 years old again, she was reliving the events from two years previous, and, rushing to the window, then back to her door and down the stairs to the front door, she saw that blue box.

"Sorry about running off earlier! Brand new TARDIS, bit exciting. Just had a quick hop to the moon and back to run her in. She's ready for the big stuff now."

"It's you. You came back."

Sherlock stood, hidden by the rose arch she had just ran through, and opened his mouth to talk, but was stopped before the words had formed.

"Course I came back, I always come back. Something wrong with that?"

How had he missed that? Keeping stock still, his eyes widened as he recognised the blue box from Amy's descriptions all those years ago.

"And you kept the clothes."

And there was a joke about clothes? Stupid to feel a pang of jealousy, but he felt it nonetheless. When the last time he'd joked and laughed with Amelia Pond, he couldn't remember.

"Well, I just saved the world, the whole planet for about the millionth time, no charge. Yeah, shoot me, I kept the clothes."

"Including the bow tie."

"Yeah, it's cool. Bow ties are cool."

"Are you from another planet?"

"Yeah."

"'Kay.."

"So what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Other planets, do you want to check some out?"

"What does that mean?"

"It means, well, it means. Come with me."

"Where."

"Wherever you like."

"All the stuff that happened, the space ships, Prisoner zero."

"Oh don't worry, that's just the beginning. There's loads more."

"Yeah, but those things, those amazing things, all that stuff. That was two years ago."

Sherlock grinned as he saw Amy's feisty side come out. Good ol' Amelia, he though. Don't stand for his lines.

"Ohohhooo. Oooops."

"Yah!"

"So that's? Fourteen-"

"Fourteen years!"

"Fourteen years since fish custard. Amy Pond, the girl who waited, you've waited long enough."

"When I was little, you said there was a swimming pool. And a library, and that the swimming pool was in the library."

"Yeah. Not sure where it's got to, I'm sure it'll turn up. So! Coming?"

"No.."

Good...

"You wanted to come fourteen years ago."

"I grew up."

Yes, you did, my Amelia Pond. I'm sorry.

"Don't worry. I'll soon fix that." He clicks his fingers and she looks at him, nervous laughter escaping her lips as she saw him look to her and gauge her reaction. Grinning, she stepped into the TARDIS.

Sherlock Holmes watched the orange light illuminate her round face, went to stop her, but couldn't bring himself to. Her dream. Her childhood. He couldn't do that to her. And yet he felt his stomach writhe at the thought of letting her run away with yet another man on the night before her wedding.

And yet there he stood, in her garden, and watched the box dematerialise, with only two words on his lips. "Sorry, Amelia.."


	10. Chapter 10 - Another Man to Choose From

Dear Diary

I know I stopped writing here years ago, but something happened and my life is no longer the humdrum story of Amy Pond in Leadworth. I'm Amelia Pond again, I'm a girl from a fairy tale and my Raggedy Man came back for me.

I don't know how long it's been, but the Doctor assures be that he can get me back for "five minutes ago", which is what I'm counting on. I... I think I need this time. I'm telling myself it's so I chose the right man, but, deep down, I know that no matter how long I wait it out, it's always going to be him. Hasn't the past proven that?

She heard doors creak and quickly looked up to see the Doctor, grinning. "Come on, lazy bones, I've got a surprise for you!"

"Because those words aren't words to strike fear into my heart, no, not at all!" She joked, throwing the journal down and covering it with the blanket before running from the room and towards their next adventure.

* * *

><p>Sherlock Holmes frowned at the empty space in front of him now. He was put off by the sudden disappearance of the Blue Box, but he wasn't able to focus on deducing it's method, nor it's destination. For the first time in his life he was completely distracted. Distracted by what she had said, what his reaction was. And instead of doing what any sane man would do right after the woman he loved ran away with another man on the eve of her wedding to yet another man, instead of going home and endeavouring to put the wild Scottish attitude and fiery hair behind him, he turned on his heel and walked straight up the garden path towards the front door.<p>

Ignoring Sharon's protests, he strode past her, straight to the stairs and up them, before flinging the door to Amelia's room open and throwing himself on the bed. He would wait. "The girl who waited"? Well then, Mister, I've got a blue box and a bow tie, I will become the man who waited.

But sitting still wasn't one of Sherlock's strong points, and nor was letting his mind wander aimlessly among seemingly trivial ideas. It took a full 2 minutes and 7 seconds before he rose from the bed, shrugged him coat off, settling on the bedpost, and started rummaging. It wasn't intrusive, not really: all of the things around her room were exactly as they had been those years ago; the dolls of her and the Raggedy Man; the drawings. The decor had changed slightly. But despite the differences being minimal, there was one huge discrepancy, screaming at him as he looked around: the wedding dress hung over the wardrobe door.

He stepped towards the wardrobe, opening the door precariously so as not to knock the white silk and muslin to the floor. Left side of the wardrobe contained outfits he'd never seen her wear, her "work clothes", but the right hand side had all the clothes he recognised, striped yellow and black sweater, mini-skirts after mini-skirts, and different coloured converses lined up on the floor, and he chuckled. Most women, if lining their shoes up, would put them by colour scale, too, but not Amelia Pond. Haphazard orders, not even couple in matching pairs, they varied from yellow to black to green to blue and back again, with patterned styles thrown in at random intervals. She'd done it to entertain herself, to create a sort of artwork with it, but all Sherlock saw was the girl's eccentricities, those things that kept him, the only Consulting Detective, on his toes. He'd always work her out, but these small things would keep him guessing just a little longer, entertain him that fraction of a day longer. It was one of the things he loved about her and about being in her company.

Sighing, he frowned at the dress as he closed the wardrobe doors, eyes flicking over the navy blue of the walls before settling on the window. No artificial light shining in like in London, nothing but the view onto the garden and the moonlight. As he crossed the room to lean against the window frame, the moonlight decided to dance in his eyes as he gazed over the expanse of flowers, many of the blooms full and beautiful, as expected at the end of June.

Vworp. Vworp-vwoooooorp, vworp.

The noise from what must have been only 5 minutes previous, even if it felt like an eternity for Sherlock Holmes. His head whipped around, ready to talk to Amy, to appeal to her. But there was a wooden blue box in his way. Frowning, almost pouting to himself, he stood and opened his mouth the speak, but for the second time that night was silenced by a conversation between two people who didn't even know he could hear them.

"Weeeell."  
>"yeah."<br>"Blimey."  
>"I know. This is the same night we left, yeah?"<br>"We've been gone five minutes."  
>"I'm getting married in the morning."<br>"Why did you leave it here?"  
>"Why did I leave my engagement ring off when I ran away with another man on the night before my wedding?"<br>"Yeahh.."  
>"You really are an alien, aren't you?"<br>"Who's the lucky fella?"  
>"You met him."<br>"Oh, the good-looking one? Or the other one.."  
>"The other one." There was the sound of Amy hitting the man.<br>"Well, he was good too."  
>"Thanks.." She chuckled a little abashed, which wasn't like Amy, Sherlock observed, but was distracted by what she said next. "So! Do you comfort a lot of people on the night before their wedding?"<br>"Why would you need comforting?"  
>"I nearly died! I was alone, in the dark, and I nearly died! And it made me think."<br>"Well yes, natural, I think sometimes, well, lots of the time."  
>"About what I want. About <em>who<em> I want. you know what I mean?"  
>"Yeah! No."<br>"About _WHO_ I want." The phrase was repeated and Sherlock couldn't help but suspect that while earlier that night, she'd been talking about him, she was now referring to the man in front of her, the man that Sherlock couldn't see.  
>"Oh right, yeah. ... no still not getting it."<br>"Doctor, in a word, in one, very simple word even you can understand..." It went quite, for just a moment, before the man interjected.  
>"No! You're getting married in the morning!"<br>"Well, the morning's a long time away." Her voice was deep, her Scottish accent more seductive than normal; she was putting an effort in, Sherlock knew it.  
>"Amy listen to me I am 907 years old, do you understand what that means?" What?! Sherlock's mind was whirring at an incredible pace: there were references there that couldn't have been from a mere five minutes in each other's company, and anything from before, Sherlock would have known: Amy would have told him.<br>"It's been a while?"  
>"Y- No, no no NO! I'm 907 and look at me I don't get older, I just change. You get older, I don't, this can't ever work." And more. Sherlock was almost lost in the sudden lack of knowledge of his world, and even more lost in the fact that he was listening to the girl he loved try and sleep with a man, who wasn't her fiancé, on the night before her wedding.<br>"A-ach, oh you are sweet, Doctor, but I wasn't suggesting anything quite so long term." The Green-Eyed Monster finally came to play and roared from Sherlock's chest, relentless and almost violent as he heard her suggestion. It was only a few moments before he registered it as jealousy, though, the sound of her lips on this stranger's. It ate at him, calming down only slightly to here the protestations.  
>"But you're human, you're Amy, you're getting married in the morning! In.. the... Morning..."<br>"Doctor..."  
>"It's you: it's all about you, everything... It's about you.."<br>"Hold that thought." In the silence, Sherlock thought. Nothing made sense anymore, his firm grasp on logic eluding him. Why would Amelia's being human be an issue?  
>"Amy pond, mad impossible Amy pond. I don't know why, I've no idea, but quite possibly the single most important thing in the history of the universe is that I get you sorted out right now." Compliment after compliment, the monster roared again, never tiring from it's hiding place behind his heart, just as Sherlock was hiding behind the blue box.<br>"That's what I've been trying to tell you!"  
>"Come on!" This man changes his mind too much, Sherlock grumbled, deciding in that instant that he didn't like him. He listened to Amy's delighted squeals, frowning, not ever trying to suppress his jealousy and his anger, listened to the seductive tone of her voice as she called the man "Doctor" again.<p>

And before he could register it, he was alone in her room again, not even hearing the mechanical whirring of the box this time. It was in that split second that he decided to go back to London, to give up on Amy Pond, to put it behind him. He obviously didn't mean enough to her.

Sulking out of the house, he once again ignored Sharon, and was on the next train out of Leadworth.


	11. Chapter 11 - Crash Landing

**A/N: So, just to make it clear: this chapter is after the events of Vampires in Venice, Amy's choice, Hungry Earth, Cold Blood and Vincent and the Doctor, and picks up when the TARDIS is malfunctioning at the beginning of the Lodger, only... well. Read and you'll find out, I suppooooooose!**

**Another A/N: I tried to get this chapter finished for Monday just gone, but I suck, so I didn't manage it, but this is a note to dedicate this chapter (and, really, this whole fic) to my best friend, whose birthday was Monday. Without her, I wouldn't have come back to writing this fic. So. I love you, Gita-love!**

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><p>"Doctor! What's happening?" The red hair of the Scottish woman flew all around her, catching in her face as she desperately tried to grab hold of something before the TARDIS flung her across the console room.<p>

"Not sure yet! Give me a minute!"

"Doctor!" Her accent sang out as she cried out, hands flailing to grasp one of the many bars. Finding one and holding on for dear life, she tried her fierce glare on the timelord that was manically running around the console room like a puppy chasing his tail. "Doctor!"

"She doesn't seem to like where we were landing."

"Does she ever?!"

"... Good point." He grabbed on of the levers and pulled it down hard. "Shhh, darling. Shhhhhhhh." He stroked the console, and Amy couldn't not roll her eyes, but she was glad that the rollercoaster ride has slowed to a more bearable speed and violence.

"So. Where are we? Where were we meant to be? Why was there a problem for her?" Amy's questions poured out quickly as the Doctor continued to soothe his time machine, seemingly ignoring her. "Doctor?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. Well. We were meant to land. In London. But she's telling me that she's landed in Colchester... But last I heard, Colchester didn't have Big Ben... Look outside for me, Pond? I need to just. Fix something."

"Fine, fine!" Amy, a little frustrated at the repeat in the TARDIS malfunctions was nevertheless excited to see where they were. Pulling the time machine's doors wide open, she took a deep breath in before opening her eyes. "Oh." She turned her head over her shoulder. "London, Doctor." She was on the floor before she knew it, knees hitting the hard ground as the doors slammed shut behind her. "Doctor?!" She scrabbled up quickly, pounding on the deep blue only to have them materialise from underneath her . "Doctor?!" Her voice was panicked now. She knew she was in London, but with no money, no phone, hell, the only thing she had was whatever was in her jacket pocket. Great. TARDIS key. Like that was of any use to her. She shoved it back into her pocket and sighed heavily, looking around the iconic scenery of the country she didn't call her own.

"Amelia?"

If she had been expecting it, she would have recognised the familiar deep tones of her childhood friend, her teenage love, and the reason she ran from her life in the first place.

"Amelia Pond." It wasn't a question anymore as Sherlock called out to her, despite his previous decision to leave her be. She was in London, after all. And several months after the wedding. So he thought.

"Sherlock!" Her head whipped around at the second calling of her name. She forgot that he was the reasons for her complications and threw herself into his arms, both out of relief, but also from the fact she hadn't seen him in at least a year. At least she'd been travelling with the Doctor for a year. She didn't know, and after quickly trying to count back from their most recent adventure, gave up. "Sherlock, you don't know how happy I am to see you!" Her lips were on his before she could register what she was doing in order to control herself. Her heart sang a song of relief, beating a frantic two-step as she tasted the familiar yet unknown lips of Sherlock Holmes. To say he was startled was to exaggerate: he's Sherlock Holmes, after all. But he certainly hadn't considered that as one of the reactions she'd have to him. Brief bliss as he allowed his lips to brush hers delicately, yet a small hunger ached behind his self control.

While her arms were wrapped around his shoulders, he placed his gently on her waist as he pulled her away from him. She fought, naturally - he chuckled in his head, but his self control won over and he tore his lips from hers. "You're married, Mrs Williams."

Amy was confused. Hurt, confused, pained, abandoned and the man she loved was telling her she was married to a man who didn't exist? She wiped her face, not aware there was a single tear falling from it.

"Sherlock. Stop this." She pulled her left hand from behind him, showing the lack of ring on her finger. "Totally available. Have been for..." A while now. She didn't know. Frowning, she didn't even attempt to work it out, focusing back on the man in front of her, and the fact that a shorter man had pulled up beside him, knitted jumper, history of military service? She wondered.

"Amy Pond. You are...?"

"John Watson. Sherlock's flatmate."

"And colleague."

"Yes, and that." The man, John, seemed to be examining Amy, so she had no qualms with gazing over him eyes full of scrutiny."I'll... erm. Leave you two to it, then?" He interrupted Amy's analysis, and she nodded.

"If you would, the two of us have a lot to discuss." And with a small glance to his tall flatmate, John frowned, confusion sculpting his expression. Sherlock hadn't disagreed with the woman, so John decided on just waiting until he got back later to ask for answers that Sherlock would make him work out himself, he was sure.

"Sure. See you later, Sherlock. And you, Miss, er, Pond?"

She nodded, smiling a little now, at the prospect at time with Sherlock. As John hailed a taxi and drove away, Amy's smile fell a little, realising once more that she was in an unfamiliar city with no money. She pushed the stray thought to the back of her mind as Sherlock began to speak.

"What are you doing, Amy?"

"Not sure."

"You always know. In all the years I've known you, you've always known. So you can at least start with why you're in London."

"The TARDIS crash-landed, left me here."

There was a pause, the unresolved tension from Sherlock witnessing her disappearing into the night, twice, in that little blue box. "The TARDIS..."

"Yeah, the Doctor's time machine. Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

"Don't treat me like an idiot, Amelia."

A beat then, when Amy didn't know whether to feel hurt or not. Before she worked out if she was, she moved the conversation on. "We we-"

"How long has it been, then?" He interrupted her.

"What?"

"/Time/. And Relative Dimension in Space. You travel, with this... Doctor," his lips curled in disgust around the name. "In /time/. How long has it been?"

Amy felt a pit in her stomach. "I.. I don't know, Sherlock."

"You- Actually. No. Nevermind. I take it the phrase "crash-landed" means you've got nowhere to stay?"

".. That's right."

"You can have the couch."

"Oh." She didn't know why she was disappointed. Highly grateful, and she'd be with Sherlock, so she was ecstatic, but there was a small part of her, and it was that moment that it decided to vocalise its thoughts.

"You don't have to accept the offer, Amy," Sherlock turned to her now, and despite his previous coldness with the woman, despite his current annoyance and pain at the situation he was in, once again because of Amy Pond, he couldn't not smile. This was his Amy. Even after all this time. There was a lot for him to work out: the lack of wedding ring; his own feelings, once again; and this "Doctor". "But I know you will. Won't you, Pond?" His smile became a small smirk as he predicted her acceptance of the offer.

"Only if you make me breakfast."

"You don't wake before noon, and it's a deal." The two of them chuckled, both happy to have found something of their old rhythm, but both knowing that there was something seriously wrong, and that it had to be fixed. And that somehow, Sherlock would work his way to the answers. He always did, and if this Doctor wasn't ready for him, he bloody well should be.


	12. Chapter 12 - A Not-So-Stranger in 221B

A/N: One day I will be one of those ficcers that updates regularly, I promise! Bit of a filler chapter, next one is more meaty, more drama, though!

Sorry for the wait, thank you all for being wonderful!

Ana.x~

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><p>Life moved swiftly in 221B Baker Street, and that wasn't something Amy was prepared for. She hadn't heard from Sherlock in a long time, her own fault, she knew, so the stories of his business, as it were, didn't get back to her. She missed the Doctor, but it had only been a few days, she could live without the man for 14 years before, why couldn't she deal with it now? Especially as she had Sherlock Holmes back at her side.<p>

She had been banished from her bed, which actually was the sofa, because Mycroft Holmes had come to pay a visit to his dear little brother. The fact that it was 7am meant nothing to him, apparently, as Amy pulled the duvet off the make-shift bed, rearranging the cushions so Mycroft could sit down. She couldn't tell if he remembered her, but he was a Holmes, so she figured that he at least knew her from their childhood. He was cold, distant, epitomising the Holmes' mannerisms in his greeting, followed by very little conversation.

"I've come to see my brother. I take it he's here?"  
>"Presumably." He wasn't in the kitchen, but there were two mugs in the sink where John had clearly put them after morning coffee. Without another word, she trudged into Sherlock's room, dumping the duvet on him where he sat, fully clothed in his typical skinny jeans and smart shirt - today's colour being a deep purple Amy deeply enjoyed seeing him wear.<p>

"Oi, Pond. Working here." He emerged from the duvet, papers in hand, curly hair tousled.

"Yeah, well, Mycroft's here."

Sherlock's head lifted from the papers he was reading, letting out an exasperated sigh. "You told him I was here, didn't you?"

"What was I supposed to say?!"

"Something else. Anything else."

"I've just woken, Sherlock, it's not like I had time to consider you didn't want to see him, and to come up with something to say!"

"You appear to be able to talk now. So go and make some excuse, /dear/ Amelia."

Amy rolled her eyes, cold now that she was only clad in one of Sherlock's shirts. She still hadn't bought clothes, though Sherlock had been more than willing to lend her cash to purchase them.

Mycroft's cold eyes examined her as she stifled a yawn and shuffled to the kitchen, grabbing a mug. "You want a cuppa?" She offered, manners more than a desire to stay and talk with him. He shook his head, face curled into a small smirk of disapproval.

"Can't stay long, I'm afraid. I'm just here to enlist Sherlock's help."

Amy flicked the kettle on, popped a teabag into the mug and turned back to Mycroft as she waited for the water to boil. "Well, he's not here."

"Amelia." Amy cringed at the name. "I heard the two of you bickering."

"And since then, he's gone." She quickly lied, pouring the now scorching water over her teabag, glad of the excuse to turn away from the older of the Holmes brothers.

"Oh, really?"

"Mh-hmm," Amy stirred her tea, discarded the teabag, yanked the fridge open, groaned at the sight of the tray of ears, glad that John had thought to cover them at least, and gave up on the endeavour of having milk in her tea before returning her attention to Mycroft. "Window. He's been practicing... Whatever art it is that requires jumping out of windows safely. I must say, he's been doing very well."

"And I must say that you, Amy, have lost your touch over the years."

Amy rolled her eyes, only this time at Mycroft rather than Sherlock. "And I see you haven't. Either way, Sherlock is busy today. I can pass on a message."

"What are you, his secretary?"

There was a jab in Amy's gut as Mycroft's harsh words landed. What /were/ they? Amy knew she wanted a lot more than Sherlock seemed to; she'd landed right back where she had been before running away with the Doctor. Swallowing and fixing her hard gaze on Mycroft, she answered him despite the angry clenching in her gut.

"I am Sherlock Holmes' friend, and I have been since I was 8 years old. Now if you don't mind, you can leave now."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at her words, but turned nonetheless, swinging his umbrella as he went. "She's feisty as she ever was, Sherlock." He said to the door which he knew his brother was hiding behind, then made his way from 221B, slamming the front door behind him.

Smirking as he heard the door shut and Mrs Hudson's grumbling, Sherlock emerged from the bedroom.

"He's right, you know: you /have/ lost your touch." Amy pouted at him, throwing the Union Jack adorned cushion that had serves her last night's pillow at his head. Her good aim, however, was thwarted by Sherlock's ability to preempt her actions and thus dodge, letting the cushion hit the wall behind him. "If you'd let me finish, Pond, I was about to add something."

"Oh?" Amy slumped into the couch, brow raised, amused at how quickly she had managed to get him to back-track.

"Yes. I was going to thank you for getting rid of him. It seems his distaste for you has grown in your absence."

"Oh?" She reached for her tea and took a deep sip of it before returning her gaze to the tall detective towering over her normally equally tall stature. Folding her leg over herself, she waited for an explanation, but of course it didn't come.

"Where's John?" Sherlock had finally noticed his flatmate's absence.

"Newcastle for the weekend. His train left from Kings Cross at 6.30. He said you didn't notice when he left..." She smirked.

"He never tells me!"

Raising an eyebrow, she didn't contest the fact, despite having been in the room and hearing the conversation.

"He'll be back the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, good." He started to turn away but Amy stopped him.

"Nuuuuh."

"What is it, Amelia?" Instead of the normal annoyance, Amy felt a thrill, so different from when Mycroft used her full name.

"You're busy today."

"Yes, and I thank you for getting rid of my brother, b-"

"Uh-uh. You're busy today. With me. Come on," she stood, tea half-finished on the coffee table as she dragged a slightly bewildered looking Sherlock Holmes behind her. "I don't know which clothes you'd kill me for wearing, but since the last time we saw each other, I grew taller, your jeans will fit me." She pulled a pair of skinny black jeans from his drawers before pausing, then yanking his underwear draw open and rummaging before pulling out a smaller pair of boxers, putting them on back to front.

Sherlock just watched her, brow knitted.

"What? If I wear them the right way round, they'll bunch up, Sherlock!" She picked up on the wrong thing that was confusing him, sliding her legs into the jeans, a smirk of approval when she saw that she only had to roll them up an inch or so.

"Amy..."

"Sherlock."

"What are you planning for the day?"

"Nothing special."

"Amelia," his tone was wary now.

"Relax, Sherly," she turned, not having changed from the shirt she slept in, a sudden wave of self-consciousness overwhelming her. Resting her hands on his chest, she chuckled and leant in, without thinking, pressing her lips to his cheek. "Turn around." She started his turn by taking his shoulders and pushing one and pulling the other.

Satisfied he wasn't looking, she pulled the shirt off, slipping into another button-up shirt, a light grey one, swiftly buttoning it up and tucking it into the jeans that were now hers for the day.

"Amelia Pond, I'm busy but you're not telling me how I will be occupied. In the romance movies John pretends he hasn't watched, when those words are uttered, it is normally accompanied with the removal of clothes."

Having pale skin, while beautiful, was a curse for a girl who rarely blushed such as Amy Pond. But she worked through it, leaning against Sherlock's shoulders. "Maybe when I know you better," she joked.

The lips near his ear told him it was "safe" to turn around, and did so, seeing Amy wearing one of his favourite shirts along with his rarely worn jeans. It wasn't the style he was used to seeing on her and it threw him a little as she drifted through the flat. He didn't like not being in control of what would happen next, but, despite being away for her so long, he was willing to let her flounce back into his life and do just that.

"You didn't answer my question: what are we doing today?"

"I thought I'd poke at you and mock you for the /ears/ you keep in the fridge while you do sciencey things in the kitchen, and then we're ordering Chinese and watching bad telly." She shrugged, flopping onto the couch.

"Oh."

"You look perplexed, Sherly," she grinned, easily picking up the old nickname she used for him.

"I'm never _perplexed_," was his retort.

"That's not what your face said." Her grin grew wider as she watched him sit down next to her, chuckling a little as he forced his face into a more neutral expression. "What's wrong, Sherlock? Not the Amelia Pond you remember?"

"I suppose it's something like that, yes."

"I haven't changed all that much," her eyes sparkled mischievously as she abruptly stood, grabbing his hand and yanking him up with her. "Come on, you've got a missed call on your phone from Greg, I think we've been summoned."

"We? And why are you calling him Greg?"

"Yes, we. And because that, my man, is his name, and that is what I will call him. Come /on/!" She had slipped her feet into her converses while she had been talking, and knelt down to fasten the laces, glancing over her shoulder at the man who now stood in the middle of his living room, face curious.

He didn't let the more subtle of his emotions colour his features though, and he fought a smile as he watched his Amelia's enthusiasm for whatever case this might be. No matter what wrongs he had believed she had done, no matter the past between them, Sherlock was finding it hard not to realise that he had missed it, missed _her_. His lips twitched a little before pulling his coat on in his typical sweeping manner.

"Dramatist," Amy rolled her eyes and muttered affectionately as he did up the buttons and she slipped her arm through his before racing down the stairs, pulling him behind, almost tumbling onto the pavement of Baker Street.

Amy's long slender arm hailed a cab with ease. "Are you sure you haven't lived in London before? The cabs only stop so easily for the locals," he grinned as the two of them slipped into the backseat.

"Last time I checked I was an Inverness girl through and through," she bantered back. "Scotland Yard." She added to the driver, who had already pulled away from the curb and started through the busy London traffic.


	13. Chapter 13 - Back on the Drug Scene

**I can do nothing but apologise profusely for how long I've made you guys wait, but I'm hoping to be back with a vengence now! I've a lot to catch up on here, and loads more ideas for these two. So thank you, wonderful readers, for putting up with me and hopefully not hating me too much for making you wait, and enjoy. x**

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><p>"I've been to alien planets and <em>that<em> was an experience and a half!" Amy muttered to herself as she clambered out of the taxi. London traffic would take some getting used to, she decided as she grinned at the Scotland Yard spinning sign.

"What was that, Amelia?"

"Nothing, nothing." Looking over her shoulder, she pulled Sherlock to her and linked her arm through his. "Let's go solve crimes." Amy's green-hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. Sherlock stiffly led her into the building. He hadn't linked arms with anyone in years. In fact, the last time he had had been when he was 20 years old, at Christmas. Smiling at the sudden flashback, he shook the memory from him as Amy started to skip ahead, dragging him along, now leading the way.

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><p>"No John today?" Greg looked surprised as Sherlock was accompanied by someone who wasn't the ex-army doctor.<p>

"Does John normally come with him?" Amy smiled at Lestrade, eyes flicking to Sherlock briefly.

"Every case, normally." Greg confirmed, leaning his elbows on his desk. "So who are you, Miss Not-John?"

Amy unintentionally flinched, and she assumed it was that Greg assumed she was a replacement for the consulting detective's flatmate. The "Miss", didn't bother her, in fact, a certain thrill went through her when she heard it, though it was coupled with a tinged sadness she couldn't explain.

"Amelia Pond."

And at the same time, Amy spoke to introduce herself: "Amy Pond, I'm surprised Sherlock hasn't mentioned me." She joked, eyes flicking to the tall man next to her to gauge a reaction. She didn't expect the one she got.

"Actually, he has." Greg chipped in, and offered a hand out for her to shake, which she took in a small state of shock at the comment.

"You have?!" She wasn't talking to Greg now, turning to face Sherlock face on as he stared at her, just as he had been as she introduced herself to the detective. He simply nodded.

"You may have come up in conversation once or twice."

"And I see why that was the case." Greg smiled, looking over Amy.

"You're married, Lestrade."

"Separated."

"You still wear your wedding ring." Amy chipped in, and Sherlock fought a small smirk.

An awkward pause filled the office for a moment that felt like five minutes for Greg, but for Sherlock it was much less.

"Anyway, we've had a tip off. And we need you to go in."

Amy beamed, already excited, and her loose grip on Sherlock's arm tightening. Sherlock glanced at the contact again, but didn't push her away. Lestrade lifted his brow at the scene in front of him, but neither Sherlock nor Amy was aware of this.

"Where?"

"Camden."

"Oooh! Last time I was at Camden Market it was…" Amy stopped, realising that if she did, she would be cast out as crazy. "Let's go to Camden, Sherlock, please!"

"What's out there?" Sherlock ignored Amy's pleas and talked to Greg.

"There's a drug deal going on out there, and-" He frowned. Amy dropped Sherlock's arm.

"You're not going out there, Sherlock."

Both men looked at Amy, Greg's expression understanding, Sherlock's frustrated. Neither said anything, Sherlock pulling out his phone. Amy snatched it from him.

"Sherlock. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"I'm right here."

"Can I talk to you _outside_?" Amy's words were through gritted teeth now, her happy attitude from being involved in solving a case evaporated in the haze of concern for her friend.

"Actually, I'll let you two have the office…" Lestrade stood, grabbing his coffee cup and nodding to the two of them as he left. Amy nodded in return, a small thank you, and she and Sherlock watched the detective inspector leave and shut the door with a click behind him.

"Amelia." Sherlock started, as Amy slipped his phone into his large coat pocket.

"Sherlock." Her response was delivered with a pinch of sass. She knew what he was going to say, and while she hadn't been around for long, she had heard more than enough from Mycroft about the time of Sherlock's life where he had turned to drugs. Hell, this den where Lestrade wanted them to go might have been one of his old providers. Amy didn't want that part of his life coming back.

"Amelia," Sherlock repeated, not letting her interrupt him. "I'm a grown man, and I can handle a case."

Amy didn't mean to look dubious as he spoke, but her concern was overwhelming at this point in time, and she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"I know. But let me go in."

"You're not a detective."

"I could be!"

Sherlock sighed. Amy folded her arms and looked him dead in the eye as she waited for him to agree, or to disagree so that she could argue some more.

"Amy."

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"If you think I'm not going to solve this case, then you're gravely mistaken."

"Oh, I know that's what you think, but you forget that you're the one who taught me."

"What you may or may not have picked up from me several years ago, before you-" He stopped before he added the comment about being engaged. It wasn't every day that Sherlock Holmes would be sensitive, and in fact, in this case, that wasn't what was happening. The door had opened and someone interrupted them.

"Lestrade needs you now, Freak."

Amy's head snapped around to Sally Donavon, glaring. "What did you just say?"

Sally was taken aback, clearly not expecting Amy to be there, or for her to stand up like that. John was more passive aggressive in his dismissal of the name calling, but Amelia Pond, the ferocious Scottish woman wouldn't stand for it. "I said that Lestrade needs you in the car, he's going to the crime scene."

"No, that other bit."

"Amy, stop." Sherlock was one step from staring open-mouthed at her.

"No, I won't. She called you a freak, and I want to know why that was called for. I'm sure that wasn't part of Greg's message, so why was there the need to add it? Hm?" The first part was to Sherlock, but as she turned back to Sally, her temper slowly rose, words becoming more aggressive and slightly louder. Sally said nothing, simply looking at Sherlock, then to Amy before shutting the door without another word.

Amy then turned to Sherlock, sighing. "Looks like I'm taking you with me, Sherly." She linked her arm through his again, tugging on him to pull him to the door. Her hand was on the door handle, and before she opened it, she turned to him. "Remind me to yell at her some more later. I don't like her." Then she swung the door open, and the two of them met Lestrade by the police car.

Sherlock had been silent since the altercation with Sally, but he spoke as he and Amy approached Greg. "Text me the postcode, I'll take a taxi there."

"And… Amy's coming with you?"

"Of course."

"Of course." Sherlock and Amy spoke in unison at that moment, and the grin that split Amelia's face was indescribable.

"Mhm-hm." Greg just nodded. "Hurry." And he ducked into the car, driving off, leaving Amy and Sherlock alone. There was silence between the two of them as Amy tried to hail a cab, failing this time, and Sherlock flagged one down for them. Getting in, and Amy following him into the back seat of the cab, the silence continued. Amy was not pleased with him going to what she suspected would be more complex than just a drugs bust, and Sherlock was uneasy. She had stood up for him. He stared out the window, letting Amy tell the cabbie that they were going to Camden, and would get more directions on the journey, but then her attention turned to the consulting detective and her childhood friend in the seat next to her.

"No need to thank me." She grinned, leaning in and pecking him on the cheek. Whether she was referring to accompanying him on the case, giving directions to the cabbie, or yelling at Sally, Sherlock would never be sure. He didn't like not being sure. But he he thought he liked that moment of intimacy a little too much.


End file.
